Too Late to Avoid an Undesirable Outcome
by nacimynom
Summary: This is an original sequel to "Denouement" the final Dead Zone episode. Johnny Smith is living with Sarah Bannerman, J.J., and baby Hope. One night, when he and J.J. go to the drug store a very serious sequence of events starts to unfold.
1. Chapter 1

I wrote this years before I discovered FanFiction.**  
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**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Zone or any of its characters. I do miss them though.

**Warnings:** Some violence and bad language.

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Unfortunately, Johnny Smith did not get a vision to give him a hint of what was to come before he entered the store. This was not surprising since everything had been planned very carefully by people who had studied their target meticulously. After all, it was possible to find much worthwhile information digging

through those tabloids and occasional mainstream local papers who liked to follow Johnny's exploits. For once, outlandish claims were not necessarily untrue. As they reported, Johnny did need to touch an object or a person to get a vision, and this touch did not necessarily yield anything useful or anything at all. If these psychic powers had been fictional, they would have been much more powerful, consistent and revelatory. But no point in dwelling on that, what happened, happened and had to be dealt with.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Johnny had no clue that his comings and goings were being monitored by an interested party who had quietly moved in across the street from his house. Without touching his house, his car, Sarah's car or anything on their property this band of well-trained operatives were able to hear quite a bit of what was going on, with very powerful, remote-sensing and expensive spying devices. They had been listening in for a couple of weeks and were very prepared to take advantage of the first opportunity to do what their client in Chicago had commissioned.

The door of the drug store slid open when J.J. stepped in front of it, Johnny was right behind him finishing a conversation on the cell phone. Sarah had called to remind him to get more diapers and baby food for nine-month old Hope. A trip to the video store had turned into a bigger expedition, but Johnny didn't mind, happy to be involved in such mundane affairs for once. Things were going well with Sarah and the kids—Johnny mulled over the idea of finally popping the question.

J.J grabbed a shopping cart and said, "I'll get the Ben and Jerry's and meet you back where the baby stuff is."

"Don't forget the Cherry Garcia, some of us are not so crazy for Chunky Monkey. I can't stand nuts in my ice cream," said Johnny basically to J.J.'s back, since his son was already walking away to the freezer section.

"Hello Bob," Johnny said as he strode down the aisle. Bob Raymond, a retired mail carrier, was filling his shopping cart with toilet paper and paper napkins displayed in the row opposite the baby items. "How are you?"

"Good evening Johnny," said Bob. "We're finally going to have some snow soon. I feel it in my bones."

Johnny scanned the diaper display looking for the right brand and size. As he reached to a high shelf to grab a supposedly economical 40-pack, a woman's voice behind him said, "Turn around slowly and put your hands up."

Thinking that it was a joke, Johnny turned without paying attention to the specific instructions. He saw a ski-masked woman, dressed in an olive green winter jacket and jeans, aiming a gun in his general direction.

"I said, put your hands up" she repeated. "Both of you."

Johnny started to raise his hands, when he heard a rattling noise behind him. Bob's shopping cart rolled towards him and touched his legs. He flashed into a vision.

_Raising one hand, Bob clumsily uses his other hand to pull out a gun from his coat pocket_. _He struggles to click the release and doesn't obey the masked woman's order to drop it. Johnny also yells at him to watch out. She shoots Bob in the chest and he falls to the floor, where he lays unmoving, glazed eyes staring at the ceiling _.

Back in the present, Johnny heard the woman order Bob to drop the gun. The scene began to unfold just like in his vision. But, this time instead of warning Bob, he dove in his direction pushing him to the floor. Two shots went off in quick succession. While falling partially on top of Bob, Johnny cried out as a hot scorching sensation dug deep into his left shoulder, while another traveled through the forearm. The bullets tunneling through his body, sent him into another vision.

_Two dark-clad figures, a woman that judging from her built and jacket could have been Johnny's shooter and a tall burly man, wait behind a privet bush outside a small one-story office building. There is only one car left in the unlit parking lot. The sign by the door reads, "Robert J. Wofford, M.D., F.A.C.P., General Medicine." Heavy snow flakes fall at a steady but unhurried pace. The grass bordering the parking lot is barely covered by a thin white veil. The snow is just beginning to stick to the pavement._

_As a white haired tall man steps out of the office and turns to lock the door, the woman jams a gun in his back and says, "Don't lock it yet, doctor. You will need some supplies to tend a man who was shot in the arm and shoulder."_

_Her partner opens the door and guides the doctor back inside._

"_If you quietly help us, we won't hurt you," the woman says as she shuts the door behind them. _

The searing pain in his arm and shoulder, snapped Johnny out of the vision. Inhaling deeply to suppress a moan, he rolled himself off Bob, who lay trembling on the floor.

"Are you okay, Bob?" Johnny's voice cracked a little as he slowly pulled the bloody arm against his chest with his uninjured hand. "She would have killed you."

"Oh my God," Bob said in a hushed tone as he took in the sight of the blood dripping from Johnny's arm. "The gun jammed or I would have had her."

The shooter had a semi-automatic gun aimed at them. Without lowering her gaze, she picked up the old gun that had slipped off Bob's hands.

"You fucking fool! Get up old man and put your hands behind your head. You have to join the others at the front of the store. Don't cause any more trouble and you won't be hurt." She turned toward Johnny. "This was not the time to play the hero, Mr. Smith. We'll take care of you in a minute."

She led the now very cooperative Bob toward the front of the store, where voices seemed to be shouting commands that Johnny could not quite make out. Trying not to dwell on what she might have meant by taking care of him, Johnny shifted his position so that he could search up and the down the isle for where J.J. might be, hoping that he was all right and that he hadn't seen the shooting.

Finding no sign of J.J., Johnny tried to check the extent of the damage. He felt dizzy and cold. Judging from the core of fiery pain he felt in his shoulder, Johnny was pretty sure that the bullet was still lodged inside. And while he could not see through the bloodied ragged material of his favorite leather jacket and long sleeve t-shirt underneath, it certainly felt like the other bullet had fractured his arm.

Johnny turned his head when he heard a sound to his left. J.J. was silently crawling on his hands and knees toward him.

"Johnny?" whispered J.J. kneeling next to him, but not daring to touch him. "Dad? What happened? Are you alright...?" His face was pale, green eyes wide with fear.

Sarah's eyes, Johnny thought realizing that the kid must be scared indeed to call him dad. He wanted to pat him reassuringly with his uninjured hand, but was afraid that more blood would spurt out if he let go of the wound.

"It's okay J.J.," he said, managing a grin. "It's just my arm. It looks worse than…" As J.J. gently touched his dad's unhurt shoulder, Johnny stopped in mid-sentence, his steely blue eyes staring far away.

_In the vision, J.J. helps him stand-up. Guessing from the amount of blood soaking their clothes, a few minutes seem to have elapsed from the shooting. They take a few steps toward the back of the isle, when Johnny stumbles and falls. He hits his injured arm and cries out in pain before losing consciousness. J.J. tries to shake him awake. _

_Vision-watching Johnny moves away from the two of them to see what is happening in the front of the store. Three black-clad men, hair and faces covered by black ski masks, have gagged and tied-up the clerk, store manager and three customers, including Bob. The woman who shot Johnny is keeping watch on the scene at gun point. _

_After he is finished with the ropes, one of the men says to the shooter, "Go secure the target and his son."_

"_Don't worry, he is not going anywhere and the kid will be too petrified to leave his dad like that," she replies walking away. _

"_He better be. We need both of them."_

Blinking as he came out of his vision, Johnny realized that J.J. was staring at him.

"That's the vision look right? You just saw something," J.J. said. He was talking very softly, afraid to catch anyone's attention. Suddenly, remembering his Boy Scout's first aid training, he took off his fleece jacket and handed it to Johnny. "Is everything going to be okay?"

"Yes, it's going to be fine," Johnny tried not to sound as shaky as he felt as he haphazardly wrapped J.J.'s fleece around the arm wound. Whatever was going on was more than just a store robbery gone wrong. He had no idea what these people wanted, but he felt absolutely certain that he had to get J.J. away from them.

Noticing a door at the back end of the isle marked with an Employees Only sign, Johnny said. "Do you see that door to the storeroom in the back? I need you to very quietly creep away and hide in there and get help when it's safe."

J.J. stared intently at his father. The contrast of the pallor of Johnny's face and the dark blood seeping through his torn clothes was terrifying him.

"But I can't leave you here," J.J. had lost one father almost a year ago and he now had an awful sense of dread about Johnnyny. "Something bad is going to happen to you if we don't get out of here."

"Please son, you got to get away to tell the sheriff what happened," said Johnny trying to carefully pick his words. "There isn't much time."

Unconvinced, J.J. said, "I can help you get up and we can both sneak out from there."

Jaw clenched, Johnny experimented shifting his weight and moving his legs a little to get to a kneeling position. A new wave of bone-deep pain made him clutch his arm tighter against his body as if that could smoother the nauseating sensation. Johnny felt a chill run down his back.

"J.J. I…I am sorry. I would slow you down," he managed to say in a soft, but steady voice. "They would catch us both. Buddy, please promise me that you'll go now."

"But…I promise," J.J. finally said biting his lower lip.

"Listen, I got to ask you to do something else," Johnny added, speaking quickly. "Tell the sheriff to find and keep an eye on a Doctor Robert J. Wofford. He has a small office over in New Hampshire. I had a vision of these guys kidnapping him. Maybe to fix my arm, but I am not sure. They were lurking around the bushes near his office door and it was starting to snow. It looked like the first snowfall of the season. Can you remember that name, J.J.? Doctor Robert J. Wofford spelled, W O F F O R D."

J.J. dutifully repeated the name twice and said, "I'll remember, dad."

"Take the cell phone from my pocket," Johnny said. "Call for help when it's safe."

As J.J. lightly hugged him, carefully avoiding his bloodied side, Johnny snapped into a vision again. When J.J. pocketed the phone and stood up, the vision released him.

"I'll go now," said J.J., the frightened look had been replaced by determination. "Dad, I…"

"I love you too—All three of you," Johnnyny said, finishing his son's sentence. "Hurry and absolutely don't come out of your hiding spot until your hear sheriff Turner. No matter what they say. You are going to be fine, I saw it."

With one last look back at his father, who looked horrifyingly helpless, crouched on the bloodied floor, J.J. quietly sneaked to the back door and disappeared behind it.

Johnny was relieved, the vision had shown him that J.J. would be all right. He considered and quickly rejected the idea of standing up to make himself scarce, away from where J.J. had gone of course. It would be nice to slow them down, but he really had no strength to muster.

Within a few minutes, the shooter came back and stood over him.

"Where is the kid?" She said aiming the gun at his head. "Tell your son to come back here."

The threat did not impress Johnny, who was so relieved that J.J. had gotten away that he hadn't placed much thought about what would happen to himself.

"I really don't think that you were hired to kill me," he said, guessing that he would be dead already, if that had been the plan.

The masked woman bent down, switching her grip on the gun as if to use it to hit him. But she stopped right before touching him and stepped away.

"Not yet at least," she said.

Two of her black-clad, masked comrades hurried around the corner to the isle.

"The van is upfront, we have to wrap it up," one of them said. Looking around, he added, "Where the hell is the kid?"

"I don't know," said the woman. She pointed at Johnny, her frustration clear even through her hidden face, "If I can't touch him, I can't make him talk. The kid must be hiding somewhere. I only left them for a couple of minutes to help you guys upfront."

"Look around. Find him quick," the other man replied. "We'll take care of Mr. Smith. We have two minutes to get out of here."

"Who sent you?" said Johnny. He didn't really think that they would answer, but it certainly couldn't hurt to ask. "What do you want from me?"

The two men completely ignored his question. One wetted a cloth with liquid from a brown bottle and covered Johnny's mouth and nose with it, before he could utter another word. Johnny passed out in the midst of a fleeting vision of a bearded man being dumped in the back of a dark SUV after being restrained and rendered unconscious by a cloth placed over his face.

He remained totally unaware of what was going on as he got unceremoniously carried past the bound and gagged people who were jammed on the floor behind the front cash register counter. Above the sound of their wildly thumping hearts, all they heard were booted footsteps on the linoleum floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

J.J. felt heart-sick leaving his dad like that., but he knew that he had no choice. Like his other dad, Wade, used to tell him, a man has to do what a man has to do. J.J. had read gory comic books and seen enough adventure movies to conjure up all kinds of scenarios for what they wanted to do with Johnny. Whatever it was, he was certain that it had to do with his psychic abilities.

Brushing those thoughts aside, J.J. concentrated on remembering that doctor's name and quietly finding his way out of the back storeroom without being noticed. Maybe if the robbers were going to get a doctor for Johnny, they were not planning to hurt him any more than they already had, J.J. thought. He had almost reached the back exit when someone opened the storeroom door letting some fluorescent light into the dark room.

A woman's voice yelled, "This is the county sheriff's police. J.J. come here, everything is safe, no one is going to hurt you."

Hidden behind a stack of boxes of paper towels, J.J. remained perfectly still heeding Johnny's warning.

"J.J. your dad needs you," the woman said in a cajoling tone, while scanning parts of the room with a flashlight. "He said that you should come out now."

J.J. felt his heart skip a beat when he heard that, but he did not move. He didn't recognize the woman's voice. It certainly was not sheriff Turner. Thinking that he might be heard, he willed his breathing to quiet down. He couldn't risk moving or using the cell phone now.

The woman lingered for a few moments, listening quietly.

"You better cut this crap and come here this instance or we'll hurt your dad," she finally shouted angrily.

At that threat, J.J. broke into a cold sweat and started re-thinking the promise he had made to his dad. He tried to balance the fear that they would hurt Johnny more if he didn't do as they asked with the breaking of a solemn promise. He also considered how angry Johnny would be if he broke his promise to get away. Really, he hadn't much experience seeing Johnny very angry, even when he had done some pretty major screw-ups, like running to the circus to be with the trapeze artist. In fact, he couldn't imagine Johnny being angry, but he could see him being sad and disappointed. He had seen a lot of that. He decided to stay put. Johnny had given him an important task to do and he would do it.

After a few more minutes of holding his breath while the woman stalked up and down the rows of boxes looking for him, he heard her slam the door shut and walk out to the store front. A little later, J.J. heard cars revving up and driving away. When the sounds faded to nothing, he took a peek through the glass pane in the door and though he wasn't surprised to see that his dad was gone, his eyes welled up with tears that slowly slid down his cheeks. Walking to a corner of the back room, he sniffled and hit a speed dial number on Johnny's cellphone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Anna had just fallen asleep while sitting on the couch. A paperback lay splayed face down on her stomach where it had slipped from her fingers when she nodded off. It was actually a very good novel, but not good enough to help her stay up past 8:30 pm after a very long week at the office. In another life, she would have been out at a club or at a show on a Friday night. That's when she had been living in the City, which was still New York City to Anna despite having moved to Bangor, Maine, almost a year before to take over the job of county sheriff. Attempts by the kind locals to get her involved in what they considered fun, had thus far been fruitless. Anna had not yet developed a social life in Bangor.

The cell phone began ringing, vibrations making it travel in little spastic circles on the night table. Jerked awake, Anna caught it just before it managed to wiggle its way over the edge. Seeing the caller ID panel flash "J. Smith" Anna had a feeling of dread that she tried to smother.

"Turner here. Hey, Smith, no rest from visions?" she said. "It's Friday night."

"Sheriff, this is Sarah Bannerman," the woman's voice sounded strained, like she was fighting to be clear and calm. "My son J.J. just called me from the Thrift Drug Store around the corner. There's been some kind of robbery, J.J. said that someone shot Johnny and… and took him away."

In the second that it took Anna to process that statement, the call-waiting signal on her cell phone began buzzing almost at the same time as the landline started to ring.

"Sarah? Where is J.J. calling you from?" she asked as she hunted for her shoes.

"He's hiding in the storeroom," Sarah answered. "He sounds so scared. He said that Johnny's arm was bleeding all over and Johnny told him to hide until he heard your voice. Why would store robbers take Johnny?"

"I don't know, but tell J.J. that I'll be there in two minutes. Can you hold for a second?" she said, while lunging for the landline. "I got two other calls. They are probably related."

She didn't wait for the answer before taking the other incoming calls and dispatching them as quickly as possible. As she grabbed her jacket and car keys, she switched back to Sarah's line.

"Sarah, I got patrol cars on the way and I am going there now," said Anna, while in the back of her mind thinking of possible kidnapping scenarios. "And Sarah, I'll take care of J.J. but, please don't come to the store. I am going to send a couple of officers to your house. Don't let anyone in until you see them."

"But, I need to be there for J.J.," said Sarah. "I told him I would come…"

Anna interrupted her, "Sarah, please listen to me. I don't know what is going on, but if someone has grabbed Johnny, I need to make sure that the rest of his family is safe. And if anyone calls, you need to be there at home to answer the phone. Do you understand?"

Sarah didn't answer right away. Anna was expecting an argument. Instead, she heard, "Yes, I understand. I'll stay here by the phone with J.J. until he's safe with you. Please hurry."

Anna arrived at the scene at the same time as the three patrol cars she had requested as back-up. The lights in the store were off, as if it was closed after hours. A few cars were still in the parking lot, Anna recognized Johnny's black jeep.

Weapons ready, she and the deputies took all the by-the-book precautions to cautiously enter the store, loudly declaring their presence to a disquieting silence. But, it was clear from the start that the perpetrators had left the scene. All the cash registers drawers were open and empty except for the smallest coin denominations. The customers, clerk and store manager had been expertly bound and terrified, but seemed physically unharmed. While some of the officers began freeing them, Anna led two others around the perimeter to the back of the store.

"Holly shit," said sergeant Ropke when he saw the blood spilled on the floor of isle seven. "What the hell happened here? Where's the body?"

"We'll find out soon enough," said Anna who tried to mentally quantify how much blood there was. She had a sinking feeling that it had spilled out of Smith.

She was not used to feeling emotional about something that she had learned to see in a detached fashion as just evidence through her years in the NYPD. Was it because of the friendship she had made with Johnny? Or had her NYC thick-skin immunity worn off during these months in Maine, where these sights were less common?

Despite these disquieting thoughts, Anna barely slowed her stride as she headed straight for the back door. "Make sure that nobody touches anything until the crime van gets here."

After entering the inventory room, she had to announce herself and yell J.J.'s name a few times before he answered. He stepped out from behind some large boxes in one of the farthest, darkest corners of the room.

Anna turned her flashlight toward him and steeled her expression not to show alarm at his appearance. His Red Sox sweatshirt was covered with the same dark stains that splattered his tan chinos. His hands and face were smeared with dry blood; at least he didn't look hurt, just terrified.

"Are you okay, J.J.?" she asked. J.J. nodded a yes. "I'm sorry I couldn't let your mom come here to get you. I have to ask you a few questions and then we'll take you home."

J.J. just shrugged. Anna led him back to the store, where someone had managed to turn on the back up lights. She tried to block J.J.'s view of the bloodied isle floor, but he stepped around her.

"I'm fine," he said and then he pointed at the blood. "They hurt Johnny and then they took him. I don't know why."

"We are going to find him J.J.," Anna said. "But first you have to tell me exactly what happened."

She steered J.J. to the manager's office in the front of the store. One of the deputies wrapped a blanket over J.J.'s shoulder and gave him a bottle of water.

J.J. told her how he was in the freezer section looking for ice cream when he heard two gun shots and what sounded like a cry of pain that he could swear came from his dad. Even though, he quickly clarified, he had never heard Johnny sound like that before. Then he heard someone in the front of the store yelling for everybody to freeze and lie face down on the floor.

"Are you sure that you heard the shots first before they started yelling up front?" asked Anna.

"Yes, I'm sure," said J.J.. He used the back of his hand to wipe away moisture from his eyes. Anna handed him a tissue from the box on the manager's desk. "I snuck back to where he was. His left shoulder and arm were all covered in blood. It looked like it hurt a lot."

"Sometimes wounds like that look a lot worse than they really are," said the deputy. A young man who had joined the force after Wade's death. J.J. didn't know him.

"That's what Johnny said and then he..." J.J. hesitated. He looked at the deputy and then at the sheriff, trying to decide something.

Anna noticed J.J.'s sudden discomfort and asked the deputy to check about the gunshots with the other witnesses. She closed the door behind him.

"Did your dad have a vision?" she prompted. "I know about them. Please tell me, I need to know everything that could help us find him."

J.J. nodded. "I know he did when I touched him. He, … he didn't tell me what he saw. He seemed really worried and told me that I had to leave him and hide right away. I didn't want to. I thought we could both get away, but he made me promise. He really meant it."

He stopped to blow his nose and wrap the blanket a little tighter around himself. Anna patted his back lightly, "It's going to be okay J.J., do you want to talk to your mom now on the phone?"

J.J. shook his head and continued. "When I was hiding in the storeroom, a woman was shouting. First she said that she was the police. I didn't believe her for a second. And then she yelled that they were going to hurt him, if I didn't come out. But I promised Johnny and I had to keep it."

"You did the right thing J.J., if Johnny asked you to do that it's because it was really important. I know that he would have explained it to you if there was time," Anna was suddenly struck by the resemblance between J.J. and his dad. Same hair, same nose and mouth but not the olive green eyes, those were definitely Sarah's. She had been glared at by Sarah enough times to recognize that unmistakable look.

Thinking about how tired she must be for having stray thoughts like that, she asked. "Did Johnny say anything else?"

J.J.'s pale face suddenly became more animated, "He told me to tell you that he had a vision of doctor. Doctor Robert, Robert something Wofford in New Hampshire. He spelled it out, W O F F O R D. He said that they were going to kidnap him when it was dark and it had started to snow. He said that you should keep an eye on him." J.J. looked at Anna while she jotted down some notes. "Maybe it's not so bad if they get a doctor to fix him up?"

"Yeah, maybe they just hurt him by accident." Anna said trying to sound hopeful.

She asked one of the deputies who used to work with J.J.'s dad to take him home.

As soon as J.J. left, Detective Terry Holton who had been interviewing the store manager and cashiers came over to report on what he had found so far.

"This is no ordinary hold-up, sheriff. Two things are missing, a few hundred dollars from the front cash registers and Mr. Smith." Holton said, scanning his notes. "I wouldn't want to jump the gun, but my money is on Johnny being their main target. The perps didn't even ask the manager to open up the store safe. They just seemed very intent on tying up and gagging everybody as quickly as possible. And get this, Mr. Smith was shot by accident. I think you'll want to hear what Bob Raymond has to say about this."

After questioning Mr. Raymond, Anna could only agree with Holton's theory that the purpose of the holdup was to kidnap Johnny Smith. Actually, considering what J.J. had told her, the kidnappers had really wanted to take both Johnny and his son. The question that nagged Anna was why. Anna and Terry had narrowed down the possible motives to ransom, information, or revenge.

After some discussion, they both agreed that the first didn't seem very plausible. Johnny would certainly be considered rather wealthy because of the blind trust fund set up by his mother before her death, but he wasn't that rich and since they hadn't gotten married yet, Sarah probably didn't have direct control over the money. Also, if money had been the motive, it would have made more sense to kidnap J.J. or Sarah, leaving Johnny, the designee of the blind trust, to pay the ransom.

"But actually, that would be a bad plan too at least if the kidnappers believe any of the stories about Johnny's crime-solving psychic abilities," said Terry thinking aloud. "Unless they could threaten Johnny in such a way that he would be too afraid of getting his son or Sarah killed if he tried to find them on his own."

"I hate to say this but, in a way things would be much simpler if it was a kidnapping for money. If someone calls with ransom demands, we could negotiate and maybe even track them down. The more time passes without a phone call the less I think that's it." Anna looked up from her scribbled notes. "The revenge thing… I don't know. Johnny has helped a lot of people and I guess he has made some enemies too. But if they had wanted to kill him they should have just finished the job at the store and left him there. It could have been set up as a botched robbery. Also, unless there is something really sick and sinister going on, there would have been no reason to also take the kid. I really think they want Johnny for something else."

Anna stopped talking as a troubling thought became crystal clear.

Terry continued thinking out loud. "A plausible reason to take both of them would be to threaten J.J. to make Johnny use his abilities for their purpose."

"You might be right. But whatever the motive, the only clue to finding him right now, it this Dr. Robert Wofford in New Hampshire." said Anna. "This is going well beyond our jurisdiction. I have to call in the F.B.I. and find some way to explain it so that they will take the lead seriously. In the meantime I want you to view every second of the store security videotape."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

In Johnny's agitated dream, he had been reliving the shooting, but this time J.J. was the one being shot. Blood flowed from multiple wounds and J.J. cried for help, but somehow Johnny was paralyzed, unable to reach him. When in the dream J.J. finally lay still, glazed eyes staring at him, Johnny snapped awake in a sweat, jerking to a sitting position on a cot in a dimly lit windowless room. The sudden movement drained the effects of any narcotic still lingering in his system. He was fully alert and in intense pain.

He had no notion of what had happened since they had drugged him at the store. The one thought that brought him comfort was that he was certain that J.J. had gotten away from whatever had been planned for both of them. However, about himself, he only had the unaccustomed and terribly disquieting feeling of helplessness and total absence of clues about what was supposed to happen next. He had gotten used to being the one in control, formulating plans based on his visions—this was different.

Trying to brush those thoughts aside, Johnny decided to take stock of the situation. He attempted the unattached approach he had learned to take with his visions, like a visitor at a special museum exhibit carefully looking but not touching anything. This was a challenge, since the pain and everything else clearly screamed of reality.

The bandages on his right foreman and shoulder were spotted with fresh blood; the arm was encased in a cardboard split and hung in a sling. His jacket, shirt, and watch were gone. He now wore a grey flannel shirt with the right sleeve cut-off at the shoulder. His faded denim jeans were splattered with dried up blood, which might have been mistaken for paint. His sneakers were peaking from underneath the cot which sat against the grey wall in a windowless room, lit by a single naked ceiling light bulb. The minimalist furnishings were completed by a wood table and two folding chairs. On the wall opposite the cot, a metal fire door presumably led to the rest of the building.

A strong metallic taste coated his parched mouth. Johnny staggered across the room to the plywood door that he hoped marked a bathroom and not a closet. When he pushed on door, he had a vision of the bearded man also walking into this little powder room.

_The man has small cuts on his forehead, purple livid bruises on his face, and a bloody swollen nose. He stares at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. Then he raises his hand in a fist and smashes it. After a quick glance at the closed bathroom door behind him, he grabs the sharpest broken piece and in one swift motion makes a deep cut at the carotid artery of his neck. Bright red blood spurts out in rhythmic beats. The man does not make any attempt to staunch the hemorrhage. He braces his body against the door when he hears someone banging on it. Soon he collapses to the floor in the widening pool of red. _

Out of the vision, Johnny barely managed to kneel over the toilet before vomiting in convulsive heaves. After his stomach finished purging itself, Johnny had to wait a few minutes to gather his thoughts and stop shivering. He had no idea who had brought him here and why, but he had the frightening hunch that it was connected to the story of this bearded man.

When he felt a little steadier, Johnny slowly stood up, steadying himself with his free hand on the sink. He turned on the cold water tap and scooped water into his mouth spitting out several times before drinking. Then, careful to avoid getting his right arm wet, he stuck his head under the faucet to splash water on his hair and face in an attempt clear the fog from his brain. After awkwardly doing what he needed to do one-handed to use the toilet, he doused himself with water again.

Feeling a little less light-headed, Johnny made his way back to the cot. He stumbled on an uneven floor board and grabbed the edge of the table with one hand to keep himself from falling. This time the vision was longer.

_A man wearing a dark grey suit and carrying a locked briefcase walks down a brightly lit corridor. When the man presents an ID card to two marines guarding a locked door, Johnny notices that it is the same man from the first vision, but with a more groomed appearance. He sports a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee, and expensive looking glasses. _

_Johnny reads the name on the card and notes the man's high security clearance. The man stands in front of a computer monitor on the right side of the door. He swipes his card, presses his face close to a small screen, and holds perfectly still for the eye (iris) recognition check. When the man goes through the door, Johnny begins to follow him but then hesitates, sensing that something is not quite right. _

Snapping back out of the vision, Johnny's temples begin to throb with an incipient major migraine. He felt his knees buckling out under him. To save himself from a fall, he sat down heavily on the nearest chair. Another vision grabbed him away from reality.

_The bearded man wearing the same suit is scanning information displayed on a computer screen in a cluttered office. The only light in the room is from the computer screen. File cabinets and bookcases displaying thick three-ring binders line two of the walls of the room. A lab coat and an umbrella hang from a metal coat rack set in the corner by the door. A large unmarked whiteboard fills most of the wall behind the desk. A window near the door overlooks a neatly organized and lavishly equipped laboratory. The office space and laboratory must be either underground or in the interior of a building, there are no windows to view the outside world. _

_The man saves some files onto a flash memory card which he places in an inside pocket of his jacket. He inserts a CD-Rom into the computer and starts up a program that wipes the entire hard drive. He then unplugs the computer, unscrews its back, and removes the hard drive which he smashes with a hammer. He places the computer bits into a plastic bag marked with the orange and black biohazard symbol for medical waste bags. _

_Then, he dons full hazard protection clothing and goes to a locked area of the lab where he removes several Petri dishes and disposable flasks partially filled with liquids from an incubator. He transfers a small sample of liquid into a plastic vial that he places in a machine. He adds the rest of the materials to the plastic bag. He then seals the bag and places it a high-temperature and pressure sterilizing oven, which he turns on at a maximum setting. After removing the protective gear, he takes his briefcase and walks out of the lab taking an elevator and walking a long corridor that leads out the guarded door that Johnny has seen in his previous vision. Outside, he walks quickly through an underground parking lot. _

Released from the vision, Johnny looked around the room, certain that someone was monitoring his every move. His head pounding, he stood up to get back to the cot, the one spot so far safe from visions. A wave of dizziness hits him as a myriad of bright spots filled his sight; the room seemed to tilt around him. Automatically, Johnny wrapped his right arm over his injured arm cradling it like a newborn before falling unconscious to the floor.

Johnny woke up when a needle pricked the crook of his right arm. Initially he thought that he was having a _Marathon Man_-like waking nightmare. He hadn't seen the movie in years, since way before the coma, but he had no trouble remembering the key tooth extraction torture scene.

He found himself so blinded by a bright light directed at his face that he could barely make out the shadows of three figures standing around him. He was sitting in something like a dentist chair, his head and upper body tilted back a little and his legs and chest strapped down so that he could not move. The pain in his left arm and shoulder had been magnified, to the point that even wiggling his fingers brought tears to his eyes. He tried to move his right hand to wipe his face, but his wrist was handcuffed to the chair.

"Sorry about the rather primitive methods we had to use to obtain your cooperation," said the closest figure, a tall heavy set man. Johnny's couldn't make out the features of his face. "As you know, it's hard to sneak up on a psychic. We would have preferred to hold the gun to your son without firing it, but that didn't work out. I guess he's a little too old to stay by his dad's side at a store. It's a shame though, things might be a little easier for you and quicker for us if we had the pleasure of his company. But enough chit chat. I just gave you something to ease the pain and loosen up your tongue, then we'll ask you some simple questions, Mr. Smith."

"I guess you didn't kidnap me for ransom," said Johnny.

"Certainly not," answered the man, sounding offended. "We just require your renowned psychic expertise. Since unfortunately you don't provide those services for hire, we had to find a more creative way to obtain them."

"I don't control my visions," Johnny explained. Whatever drug had been given to him hadn't made the pain disappear from his body, it just didn't seem to matter as much to his brain. "Sometimes I see things, sometimes I don't."

"Yes, yes, we all know about that. I don't think you'll have a problem seeing what we are interested in. As I am sure you know, we have been observing you in the cell. We know you had some visions already. You tell us what you saw and you'll live to see your pretty family again."

To Johnny it felt like the interrogation went on forever. For the longest time he had no idea what they were aiming to get from him. Despite his mind's drug-induced fogginess, he fought to maintain some control of what he was telling them. Initially they asked him about the visions he had in the cell. He described the man's suicide in detail and then he told him about seeing the man entering some sort of secure area. Johnny felt like there was nothing to hide about these two events. During the first part of the interrogation, no one touched him, but the bright light continued to blind him the whole time. He didn't even notice the two times when someone administered additional drugs.

As time went by, he felt more and more disoriented, and his mind drifted to other thoughts. He day dreamt about the trip to Acadia that he, Sarah and the kids had the weekend before. He and Sarah had taken turns carrying Kate in a backpack while they hiked around Jordan Pond. J.J. had even tried tea with the hot popovers at Jordan Pond House Restaurant.

Intense pressure on his wounded shoulder made him jerk painfully and snap out of his daydream in a cold sweat.

"Please pay attention, Mr. Smith. Or we'll have to show you what else we have learned from the CIA's trusty training manual."

After that warning, they stopped using drugs and opted for cruder physical methods. Even with the treat of more pain, it was hard to concentrate on toeing the fine line between giving them enough information and not too much information. When they caught him in a lie, they used his stomach as an ash tray. The small burns from the lit match and falling ash hurt like hell. One more reason to hate smoking and, in this case, smokers. The combination of drugs and injuries nibbled away at Johnny's mental defenses. He became afraid that he would soon lose control and tell them everything they wanted, even though he had no idea what information they were looking for.

The situation got more intense when they wheeled in a metal cart with a pair of glasses, a pen, and a wallet, which they stationed in reach of his handcuffed hand. They told him to touch each thing and describe what he saw. To Johnny's dread each object triggered a vision that was clearly connected to the others. He tried to be selective in his accounts. Fortunately, they weren't pressing him too hard yet. They seemed to already know a lot of what he was telling them.

The story behind the bearded man's suicide clicked into place with the last vision, when Johnny held the dark-brown horn-rimmed glasses.

_Johnny is walking in the downtown area of a large city. From the skyline and the view of the lake, it's clearly Chicago. He is fighting to move against streams of people who are running in the street in a panic fleeing a spreading white fog. When the fog reaches them, people around him fall to the ground, blood leaking from their ears. _

_Johnny starts to run too. He changes directions many times and has no idea where he is when the fog finally dissipates. Everything and everyone around him is at a standstill. Buses, taxis, cars stopped and bodies everywhere, dead faces frozen in fear—Johnny feels paralyzed at the horrific scene. The air becomes difficult to breathe._

On the chair, Johnny began to shake violently. At each body-racking convulsion the handcuff dug deeper into his wrist, carving it with bloody lacerations. None of his captors moved to touch him. When he finally lost his grip on the glasses—which fell to the ground, shattering the lenses—he lost consciousness. His bound body lay still on the chair, fresh blood soaked through the bandages and sling on his arm.

"Well that was interesting," said the lead interrogator. "It's pretty clear that Mr. Smith has seen much more than he has decided to share with us. We'll give him a break and then we'll finish this up. Put him back in the cell and give him some food and water."

Two of his associates removed Johnny's restraints and unlocked the handcuffs. They carried him back to the cell and dumped in on the cot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

This time Johnny woke up to the smell of food. It wasn't exactly a good smell, but the scent certainly seemed to indicate that something edible had been brought to the room. His existence had been now simplified to primitive sensations. There was the pain, a continuous throb of his shoulder and arm that he mostly managed to ignore as background noise, except when he made a sudden motion that caused a flare up. There was fear mixed with despair, the most difficult things to handle. His timely loss of consciousness episodes were helping him delay making any important realizations and decisions. And then there was hunger, a gnawing at his stomach which even in his feverish state had now become quite unbearable. He had lost track of time, but from the scruffy feel of his unshaven face and the emptiness in his stomach he was certain that at least a day and a half had passed since his capture.

He cautiously stood up and steeled himself to ignore possible visions that might delay his meal. After a quick but tricky trip to the bathroom, he sat at the table. From his days living alone in his great big house, moping about how to avoid people seeking him out for his psychic insights, Johnny easily recognized the distinctive look of a Hungry-Man dinner. In a white microwavable tray pot roast lay nestled in a mass of gravy and mashed potatoes colored by soft, cut green beans and carrots. A large red plastic cup filled with water completed the meal presentation. But despite his hunger, the smell of the food made him queasy. He knew that he should eat something to keep up his strength, but what he really felt like doing was lying back in the cot to sleep forever.

Shivering, he realized that he had a fever, most likely the wounds were infected. The bandages hadn't been changed and even though there didn't seem to be any fresh blood oozing through, there were some yellow stains. Besides the impending treat of being killed or beaten to death by his captors for giving them or not giving them the information they sought, his arm injuries were ticking time bombs. He had to do something before he became totally incapacitated. One of his biggest fear was that if he became delirious he would be made to say things that so far he had managed to keep secret.

With a plastic soup spoon, the only utensil provided, Johnny took a few bites, chewing slowly while thinking about what he had seen in the visions. The visions he had experienced in this room and those in the interrogation chamber all centered around the bearded man, Dr. Daniele Santori, a scientist of some sort. Santori had discovered a most powerful biological weapon that could wipe out all human life in an entire metropolis like London. He had destroyed the files on his computer pertaining to this discovery and some of the reagents linked to it. However, he had saved some information on a memory stick. Johnny wasn't sure Santori had meant to give the memory stick to someone else. His interrogators hadn't asked him any specific questions about it, but he had a strong feeling that that's what they were looking for. Most telling, the scientist had killed himself rather than betray this information to the group that was now holding Johnny.

The sound of the door being unlocked broke Johnny's mulling things over. One of the masked armed thugs entered the room. He was about a half a foot taller than Johnny's six feet, and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds of mostly muscle. From the distinct imposing built, Johnny recognized him as the male half of the duo that would kidnap the doctor in his vision.

"Smith, time for more fun and games," the thug said in a jovial voice, waving the gun in Johnny's general direction. "Come on, the boss wants to chat with you some more."

"The boss can wait. I am eating dinner or lunch or whatever. I don't even know what day or time it is," Johnny tried to stall. "And I really doubt it that you are going to shoot me if I don't move."

"Very funny," said the man changing his tone and taking a few steps toward him. "Get the fuck up and come with me. I am not kidding."

Ignoring him, Johnny put the spoon down and took a large gulp of water. The man swatted the cup away with the barrel of the gun and then grabbed Johnny's good arm to pull him up to his feet. At the touch, Johnny entered a vision.

_He is standing next to a tall unshaven man in his early thirties who is carrying a small bouquet of flowers as he enters a cemetery laid out on a grassy hill. A few scattered trees provide some shade_._ The man lays the flowers at a small granite tombstone, marked "Jenny Longridge, July 27, 2000-June 14, 2009." _

_Tears in his eyes, he says, "I am sorry Jenny, I didn't know that's what they were going to do. I was just trying to make money to give you a better life. If I had known I would have had no part of it. All of those people and you and your mama dead…"_

_The man takes out a gun from under his coat; with no hesitation he points it to his own temple and shoots. With a wide spray of blood, skull fragments and grey matter, he crumples lifeless on top of the tomb._

During the short duration of the vision, the man saw Johnny's bloodshot blue eyes turn steel gray and stare right through him, as if seeing something behind him. A numbing ice cold sensation enveloped the hand gripping Johnny's arm. Surprised, he let go of the injured man. Momentarily dizzy, Johnny grabbed the side of the table with one hand to regain his balance.

"What the hell was that?" The ski -masked man whispered, rubbing his fingers to get sensation back. "They warned me about you. You are some kind of psychic who can see things from the future and the past."

Johnny shivered and the sides of his head were beginning to throb with another impending mega-headache. He decided that he had no more time to waste to think of a better plan. He moved closer to the man and held his gaze. The taller man could not help but notice that Johnny's eyes had turned back to their regular color.

"Longridge, that's your name right?" Johnny waited for a fruitless second for an answer. "And you really have no idea what they plan to do with the information they want me to give them? Let me clear things up for you, it's going to kill a lot of people, more than you can possible imagine."

"What's that got to do with me? I am just doing my job."

"Is that what this is? Well, in addition to all the murdered people you don't care about, what you are doing is going to kill your daughter Jenny a few weeks before her tenth birthday. It's on July 27th right?" Johnny paused again expecting a response, but Longridge just stared at him speechless. "The thing is that you are not going to be able to live with that. I just had the pleasure of seeing you blow your brains out at her grave. A messy sight that has clearly made me lose my appetite, even though I have no love lost for you."

"I am not going to listen to this. You're lying," Longridge finally managed to say, knowing that he sounded like a school kid in a playground argument.

"It doesn't take a psychic to know that you were going to say that," Johnny said and with some newly found energy, he started walking toward the door. "Let's go now, Longridge, your boss is waiting. Maybe we can get this over with."

Longridge stopped Johnny before he got to the hallway. He would get in big trouble if he didn't handcuff him for the short trip. He saw Smith shudder slightly at the touch, but he couldn't tell if he was having another vision or if he was in pain. The prisoner's right wrist was decorated by a ring of dark swollen abrasions and bruises. His skin was hot and clammy. Longridge wondered whether he should say something to the boss about the prisoner being pretty sick, but thought better of it. He didn't want to raise any doubts about his commitment to this whole lucrative affair.

While they walked to the interrogation room, Longridge searched his mind for a logical explanation for how this Smith fellow, this total stranger, could possibly know his name and his daughter's name and birthday. He had certainly never mentioned anything about his family in his presence or to anyone else in the group. And they had all followed the specific instructions not to use their real names. It was also true that Longridge had no idea what the point of this whole messy kidnapping was. He had soon realized that it was not for ransom and for a while he had thought that Smith was a former member of the gang who left with some unfinished business. When he had heard about the job, he hadn't put much thought as to why, he had only been interested in the money. And it certainly paid plenty to ask few questions and follow directions. But now he was starting to think that the talk he had heard about Smith being a psychic might be true and if it was, did he tell the truth about Jenny?

Once in the room, Longridge was in the process of transferring his side of the handcuff from his wrist to the chair when Smith suddenly shook him off. With surprising speed he swung and swiped him painfully on the side of the head with the free end of the handcuffs. Dazed, Longridge staggered backwards. Before anyone else could catch him, Smith lunged toward the boss. Both of them fell against the metal cart, which tipped over, scattering the various objects. Right after making contact, Smith stopped resisting and let himself be hit and kicked by the men who had come to their boss's aid.

"Stop it you fools," the boss said scrambling to his feet and pulling them away from the prone prisoner. "He wants you to do that. Just put him back on the chair."

As he hauled Johnny back up, Longridge noticed that the arm had slipped off its sling and both bandages were starting to redden with fresh blood.

"Before you get started on the whole Abu Ghraib torture thing, I want to tell you about my latest vision," said Johnny breathing raggedly. "I am going to pass out soon and you are either going to let me die from blood loss and infection, or you are going to find a doctor to treat me so that you'll be able to hand me over to the Chicago group as planned. I know that they are anxious for me to tell them where Dr. Santori hid his dam memory stick. You decide. At this point, I've stopped caring."

"Now listen to me Mr. Smith," said the boss. "You are in no position to ask for anything."

"I'm really not asking for anything. I am just telling you about my visions. That's why I am here, right?" Johnny said pleasantly and then, true to his word, he slumped to the floor unconscious.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Anna had been impressed by the high-tech equipment that the F.B.I. agents had supplied for the stake out, especially the night vision binoculars. She used them to scope out the small one-story office building marked by a gold sign by the door announcing, "Robert J. Wofford, M.D., F.A.C.P., General Medicine." Given the freezing temperature and falling snow, she was happy to have to wait in the car with the heat on until the arrest had been made. This being across state lines well out of her jurisdiction, definitely had its plus side.

A man and a woman, dressed in black like some paramilitary unit, were arrested attempting to kidnap and undercover agent posing as Dr. Wofford. Dr. Wofford allowed them to use his offices for the initial interrogation.

"How did you know we were going to be here?" asked Longridge. He looked as if he already knew the answer.

"We are the one asking questions not you," said FBI special agent Rodriguez.

"Wait, I think it would be a good idea to impress them with our far reaching investigative skills," said sheriff Turner. "It's a funny story actually. Over in Bangor Maine, where I am sure you and your friends have never been, there was a store holdup. A man named Johnny Smith got shot and, this is the strange part, he told his son to tell the sheriff (that's me) that a Doctor Robert Wofford in New Hampshire was going to be kidnapped on a snowy night to help a wounded man, maybe Smith himself. Smith made his son promise to hide and not come out until it was safe. Somehow he seemed certain that the holdup guys were more interested in himself and his son, than in the cash registers of the store. And long story short, lo and behold, here we are with you two arrested for attempted kidnapping of Dr. Wofford. Interesting coincidence, right?"

"We don't know anything about a holdup in Maine or a Smith guy, " the woman snapped back.

Turner noticed the clouded expression on Longridge's face. "Did Smith say something to you?"

Longridge saw his accomplice's scowl and stayed silent. Turner took that as a clue to break up the not so happy couple. She and Rodriguez took Longridge to one of the examination rooms, while the other agents continued their mostly one-way conversation with the woman. She did not appear to be impressed by the assertions that she fit the profile of the Bangor store shooter and that the ballistic match would put the nail in her coffin. In fact, she just wanted to talk to a lawyer.

Turner closed the door behind her, while Rodriguez led Longridge to sit on a stool.

The agent said, "Look, we don't have time to waste. In addition to being caught red-handed abducting Dr. Wofford, we have evidence connecting you to the Smith shooting and kidnapping. Help us find Smith and it will be easier on you. Don't help us and if he dies, you will be up for murder."

"I'm just hired muscle. I don't know much beyond what they told me to do. I really don't know what they wanted from Smith. They just said he could give them some important information. I really thought he was one of their gang who had gone AWOL."

"Maybe you don't know their plans, but you certainly know their location. We need that information before they get suspicious about you guys not coming back and move to a different place."

To the interlude of silence that followed Turner added, "I know that Smith sometimes says things that throw people off balance. He's done it to me. You have that look. Just spit it out."

"We were told to avoid touching Smith because he could sense things about you—I thought it was just mumbo-jumbo—but like the others I followed orders. I never even spoke to him, until today. I had to bring him from his cell back to the inter…, to another room, but he refused to come. I…I didn't hit him. When I pulled him up to stand, I got this weird cold numbing sensation to my hand. He got this strange look. I asked him what the hell had happened, he said my last name and he told me that the boss's plan would kill more people than I could imagine." Longridge stopped and roughly rubbed his face. He continued, "there was no way that he could have heard my name. Then he said that one of the people who would die would be my daughter, he knew her name too. He said that Jenny would be killed a few weeks before her tenth birthday, July 27th. Tell me, please, does what Smith see in his visions always come true?"

Rodriguez turned to Anna for direction. She said, "Usually yes, unless he does something to change things."

"He also said that he saw me kill myself at my daughter's grave," he paused as if expecting Ana to say that Smith had been kidding about that, instead he just got a raised eyebrow. So he went on. "She lives in Chicago with my ex. This is crazy. I was just trying to make some money to start a small business and make myself respectable so that her mom would at least let me visit with Jenny."

"This is all very touching, but nothing is going to change unless you tell us exactly where they are keeping Smith." Said Rodriguez. "We need to know everything: location, number of band members, types of weapons, vehicles."

After not getting much sympathy for expressing his fear that he might get killed for giving this information, Longridge opened up the flood gates. He spewed all kinds of interesting intel. With Longridge and his female accomplice under arrest, there were still five well-armed kidnappers with Smith at an isolated vacation home on a pond about an hour from the town. Smith was mostly kept alone in a locked basement room, with a guard posted outside the door. The rest of the group was usually upstairs in various locations. While the FBI agents got out paper maps and a laptop to view satellite pictures of the location, Anna took over the interview.

"We have eye witnesses, blood, and a bullet casing indicating that Smith was shot at least once," she said. "How badly hurt is he? Did you guys get the other bullet out of him?"

It took a while to get something approaching an honest answer from Longridge who preferred to repeat over and over that he hadn't done anything to Smith.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Jackson, the guard assigned to watch Johnny, sat a couple of yards away from the cot to listen to anything he said in his fever-induced delirium. So far all Jackson could make out where bits of conversations bordering between flirting and jokes with various women, Sarah, Rebecca, Anna, and an Alex, who despite the name must also be a woman, Jackson was convinced. The boss didn't want Johnny to be left alone in the room in case he decided to attempt suicide.

The guard was highly skeptical that Smith was in any kind of position to off himself. Jackson hadn't seen what happened in the interrogation room, but he had been called in to help move Johnny back to this room. The man was half conscious while they half carried him and half dragged him. Fresh blood had soaked the bandages wrapped around his arm and his face sported a bloody lip and a dark bruise on the left cheek. Jackson had replaced some of the bandages, but he had not completely unwrapped the wound for fear that it might bleed more profusely. He had helped Smith take a few sips of water before the sweat soaked, shivering man fell into a fretting sleep.

Jackson had seen his share of wounded people before his discharge from the army and had pointed out to the arguing heads of the band, that the prisoner would die if he didn't get any medical attention soon. That would not put them in good standing with the people in Chicago. He had almost dozed off, head pillowed by his arms on the table, when he heard the door being unlocked. He snapped to alertness, as the boss and his second in command strode in.

"They are late with that doctor." The boss said to him. "I don't like it. Something might have happened. Wake Smith up. I need to talk to him."

"I'll try," said Jackson. "He seems pretty out of it."

He walked over to the cot where Johnny lay facing the wall and shook his unharmed shoulder. The prisoner's only response was to inch away from the touch. Jackson could feel the heat emanating from his shivering body. With firm pressure on the shoulders, he rolled Johnny onto his back. He then emphasized his call to wake up with a couple of slaps on the face. Johnny opened his eyes briefly and then closed them.

Impatiently, the boss stepped next to Jackson and poured an open bottle of water over Johnny's head. With a gasp of surprise, Johnny woke up, blinking several times to try to focus his blurry vision and get rid of shimmering bright lights that seemed to be floating in the air. Johnny could make out the dark-clothed shapes of the three men hovering over him, but he couldn't see their facial features since they were, as usual, covered by ski masks.

"Smith, we need to have a little chat," said the boss. "Let's sit at the table, like civilized people."

Jackson helped Johnny stand up and take the few steps to the closest chair. At the physical contact, Johnny flashed into the briefest of visions.

_He sees three bloodied bodies sprawled on a gravel driveway. He recognizes them even before he kneels next to the closest one. The corpse lies on his back, eyes staring unfocused to the sky, congealed blood and grey matter leaking from behind his head._

Johnny shook off Jackson's hold and plopped down on the chair. While with one hand holding to Johnny's shoulder so he wouldn't slip off the chair, Jackson took out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and showed them to the boss.

"No need for those right now," the boss said pulling chair next to Johnny's and sitting astride it. He grasped both of Johnny's hands and held them on top of the table with a firm grip. "Just tell me what you see Smith."

Johnny gasped at the touch that felt like fire tearing through tender, swollen flesh of his left arm. The pain become more remote as he got immersed in a vision.

_He is standing on the U-shaped gravel driveway of the same large, two story log cabin surrounded on three sides by evergreen woods and on the other side by a wide lawn which slopes down to a pond. It looks like a secluded New England vacation spot for a wealthy family. Johnny doesn't recognize the area, but knows it could be anywhere in Maine or its neighboring states. _

_A few inches of snow cover the grassy area surrounding the cabin. Light flurries are covering the numerous vehicles parked around the house. Johnny walks around the vehicles and sees the New Hampshire license plates and insignia. The house is surrounded by police officers and other law enforcement types. Johnny is distracted from exploring the vision by the pain in his arm, which is becoming more intense. _

"Don't…Don't press so hard or I'll lose the vision." Johnny said through clenched teeth, startling the men who had been staring at his far-away look. The boss released his left arm while keeping a tight hold on his right arm.

Johnny decided that there was no point in lying about what he saw in his vision. "I see a big log cabin in the woods with a wrap-around porch and a pond nearby. There are several SUVs and a police cars parked around the house. There is an ambulance too and some sort of van. A gurney with a zipped-up black body bag is being carried out of the front door."

_Johnny stares at the body bag; a feeling of dread clutches his stomach. He is glad that he can't see who is in the bag because of nagging possibility that he would be staring at his own lifeless face. He has seen his own death in visions before and it has not become any easier. At least so far he has always managed to avert it. But now he is less sure than ever on how to go about saving his own neck. Johnny doesn't really feel panicked about it, just a sense of bone-deep weariness. _

"Uniformed cops are escorting out of the house two handcuffed men dressed like you. Since I have never seen your lovely faces I don't know if it's you. The taller guy has a shaved head and a thin brown mustache. The other one has short-cropped dirty blonde hair."

With a worried expression, Jackson looked at their boss who signaled him not to speak.

"Is this going to happen soon?" The boss said. "Smith, you better not be lying."

"I don't know when it's going to happen. I can't see the sun, the sky is grey and it's snowing. It could be morning or afternoon. You figure it out." Johnny continued. "There is a helicopter coming down. It's so loud, I can't hear what anybody is saying." Johnny stopped his description, his attention totally focused on the vision.

_He searches the sky looking for the helicopter that is making the deafening sound. It's a blue and red MEDEVAC landing on the grass by the lake. With the corner of his eye, he notices that a couple of people are approaching the front porch. He recognizes both women, one is sheriff Turner and the other is Harriet Stone a special agent he had met during his very brief stint working for a government intelligence unit. _

"What else is going? What are you hiding?" said the boss. He hauled Johnny to his feet. "We don't have time for this."

"Now I see nothing, but I think that the police will be here soon," Johnny said in a calm voice that didn't seem to belong to his trembling body. "I hope you are not going to do anything that is going to get a lot of us killed."

"What's he talking about? How could the police find us here?" said one of the men.

"I don't know if he telling the truth or lying, but it's taking those two too long to come back with the doctor. We need to get out of here. Bind him and make sure he can't see anything. I am sick of these hot ski masks," said the boss on his way out of the room. "Let's grab the gear and go to the next safe house. The others can catch up if they are able."

When they were alone in the room, Jackson approached Johnny with the handcuffs.

"Wait, before you truss me up, can I put on that sweatshirt? It's freezing in here," said Johnny pointing to the lump of clothing on the floor next to the cot. The fever had taken another spike and his shoulder and back muscles were tightening from uncontrollable shivers. Since the last couple of visions, the throbbing at his temples had gotten worse.

Jackson handed him the sweatshirt. Johnny had to grit his teeth as he removed the sling and slowly maneuvered the stiff, swollen limb into the sleeve. Without waiting to be asked, Jackson helped him with the other sleeve, pulled up the zipper and placed the sling over his head.

"Thanks," said Johnny maneuvering the arm back in the sling. "Listen, Jackson I know that you don't want my advice. But if your boss makes any harsh decisions about my life when the cops get here, you could all get killed or face the death penalty later on. You might want to think about whether your kids back in Maine deserve to face that just for the sake of doing a job for a group of blood-thirsty whackos in Chicago. I bet you would have no part in it if you knew what they wanted to do. Aren't you wondering why it's all a big secret?"

Jackson looked at Johnny as if he was going to reply to the question, but then he heard the boss outside yelling for everybody to hurry up and he stayed silent.

The last kindness Johnny received were three extra-strength ibuprofen tablets and a glass of tap water. Without a thought about what they would do to his long empty stomach or his bleeding wounds, he chugged everything down gratefully. Then, Jackson handcuffed Johnny's wrist together in front of him. After blindfolding him with a torn black shirt, Jackson guided Johnny up the stairs and led him to stand by a wall. Johnny's fingers were sticky with blood that had already seeped through the bandages and sweatshirt as he held the wounded arm against his stomach trying to find the least painful position for it.

Johnny couldn't see what was happening, but he could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps moving quickly on the wood floors of the house, intermingled with the clatter of dropped objects and slammed doors. He leaned against the wall, fighting the desire to submit to exhaustion and slide down to sit on the floor. No matter how tempting that sounded, he knew that it would hurt more to stand up afterwards. Judging from the pain in his arm and head, the slow but continuous blood loss, and the fever that seemed to have hit a new surge, he knew that he was on the verge of passing out. But he desperately wanted to hold on to consciousness to face what was to come when the police arrived.

Despite his attempts to stay alert and try to figure out what was going on by intently listening to every sound, Johnny had started to drift off in a half daze. He caught himself from slipping down against the wall when he heard the crunching sound of multiple vehicles riding on gravel.

"This is the FBI and the sheriff's department. You are surrounded. Release Johnny Smith and come out with your hands up," said a voice from a loudspeaker.

"Holy shit, they are here," someone hissed nearby. "Smith's vision is coming true."

A heavy hand firmly gripped Johnny's injured shoulder and slammed him backwards pinning him against the wall while a metal nozzle jabbed him in the neck. Eyes tearing up in pain, Johnny recognized the boss's voice.

"Smith, if you want to live past the next few minutes, don't say a word or do anything stupid. You are now going to come with me, while we go greet our visitors. The rest of you back me up."

He pushed Johnny forward and moved what was obviously the muzzle of a gun to the side of his head. Someone must have opened the front door, because Johnny felt a frigid breeze that brought in some clear air. For the briefest of moments it washed away the pungent staleness of fermented locker room-grade sweat and metallic dried up blood emanating from his own unwashed body.

They took a couple of steps forward and stopped. Everything seemed strangely quiet and Johnny realized that it was snowing when light taps touched his bare hands and dissolved in wetness. He heard several metallic clicks and sensed many pairs of eyes watching them. The boss' heavy breathing wafting above his shoulder brought the overpowering foul smell of some onion-rich food that made Johnny even more nauseous than he already was. As the boss dug his fingers more firmly into his shoulder to pull him closer as a human body shield, Johnny stopped in mid cringe as he got thrown into a vision.

_He sees himself being held at gunpoint in the doorway of the cabin. The place is surrounded by various law enforcement types, frozen in position as they aim their weapons in the direction of the cabin. Johnny recognizes the mix of local police and FBI agents that he has seen in his previous visions. He sees Turner standing near her local counterpart behind the open doors of one of the closest cars. It's snowing but visibility is still pretty good._

"_I don't have a clear visual," says the sharpshooter positioned next to her. "He's holding the hostage too close."_

"_Are we positive that's Smith? The clothes don't match the description and his face is covered by the blindfold."_

"_That's Johnny, I am sure," says Anna. "Tell your people to be ready to back him up. I know that he doesn't look like he is in a position to do anything, but I am sure he will if sees the opportunity."_

"_He can't see anything," one of the plain clothes men next to her says._

"_I think that the way things have progressed so far in this investigation should have convinced you that there might be more than one way of seeing things, especially when Smith is involved." Anna looks around her glance stopping in Johnny's direction, almost as if she could see him. "Just be ready for anything." _

_While the boss threatens to shot his other arm and then kill him if his demand are not met, Johnny tries to memorize the position of the cabin and the surrounding people and vehicles._

_As they start to step backwards into the cabin, hostage Johnny suddenly twists his body releasing the boss's hold on his shoulder and lunges forward. The gun falls to the floor, but the boss recovers too quickly and tackles Johnny to the ground before he makes it out of the porch. Gun fire from the cabin provides a cover for the boss to drag him back inside. Snow begins to fall more heavily._

Johnny snapped out of the vision while the boss started yelling his demands. His thunderous voice pounded Johnny's ear drums.

"Unless you want me to shoot Smith right in front of you, you are going to do what I say. First, I want all these cars moved back at least 100 yards away from the cabin and the road. Go in the woods or jump in the lake for all I care. If that's not done within the next ten minutes I am going to shoot Smith in the right shoulder. Next you are all not going to move a muscle while we walk out of the cabin, get into our cars and leave. The first sign of a car or helicopter following us is going to cost Smith a bullet in the right arm. The third strike and you are going to find his dead body along the road. None of these demands are negotiable."

The boss pulled Johnny to make him back-up in the cabin. While starting to retreat, Johnny leaned forward, as if trying to regain his balance, before violently slamming his head backwards into the boss's face. The sound of shattering cartilage and bone was unmistakable as the man cried in anguish and dropped his gun. Ignoring the jarring pain to the back of his skull, Johnny ducked down and lunged his body toward were he guessed the porch steps where.

Fresh waves of pain shot up his arm and ribs as he hit each stone step. His rolling fall down the steps stopped when his back smashed against what felt like a large irregular rock. Almost out of breath from the hard smack in the ribs in the same spots where he had been pummeled a few hours earlier. He controlled his breathing so that it wouldn't hurt so much. Trying to remember what he had seen in his vision, he crawled parallel to the steps to hide behind the porch's stone retaining wall, hoping that it would keep him out of sight of the cabin windows. Gunfire ricochet nearby.

"Stay down Smith," someone shouted above the gunfire. "Our guys have almost reached you."

Frustrated by his inability to see what is going on, Johnny tried to pull down the blindfold with his hands. The slight motion flared up an agonizing pain. While he crouched low with his back against the wall, he felt a warm dampness spreading on his stomach underneath his handcuffed hands. He guessed that the arm wound, which was now throbbing fiercely was bleeding more profusely. The warmth of the blood strangely contrasted the cold wetness of the falling snow and slushy ground which seeped into his thin clothes.

After minutes trying to sort through the sounds of guns shots, yelled commands, and assorted responses, Johnny tensed when he heard someone approach.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Anna Turner stood with the FBI agents behind the open doors of their black SUV. Like everybody else, she had her gun aimed at the front of the log cabin. When the tall professional-wrestling sized man and his equally tall but slighter-built, blindfolded bound hostage stepped out of the door into the porch, she recognized Johnny immediately. She felt relief that he was still alive and dread that he wouldn't be for much longer.

"I don't have a clear line of sight," said the sharpshooter positioned next to her. "He's holding the hostage too close."

"Are we positive that's Smith? The clothes don't match the description and his face is covered," said the other officer.

"That's him, I am sure," said Anna. "Tell your people to be ready to back him up. I know that Smith doesn't look like he is in a position to do anything, but I am sure he will if sees the opportunity."

"What's he going to do? He can't see anything," one of the plain clothes men crouched next to her stated the obvious.

"I think that the way things have progressed so far in this investigation should have convinced you that there might be more than one way of seeing things, especially when Smith is involved." Anna glanced around, strangely feeling like someone was watching her. "Just be ready for anything."

While the lead FBI agent ordered everybody to be on alert, Anna studied the scene closely through her binoculars. She saw that Johnny's hands were secured in front of him rather than behind his back. He seemed to be supporting his left arm with his right hand. At least there had been some concession to his gunshot injury, but it looked painful she thought.

She noticed that Johnny's head made a slight sideways jerk when the kidnapper clasped him more tightly on the shoulder before issuing his treats. The motion reminded Anna of the many times she had seen Johnny enter a vision—he always seemed to shake his head or recoil before getting his signature 'far away' look. Anna wondered if now he was seeing himself being shot in the other arm or just dumped lifeless out a car. Or maybe the vision was about being freed.

Without glancing away from the scene, Anna said to the tall agent next to her. "I think that whether we are ready or not Smith is going to make a move before he gets dragged back inside. He won't play the part of the passive lamb being led to the slaughter."

The gunman and Johnny stepped back in the direction of the cabin door. Anna watched Smith sway forward as if he had tripped before suddenly straightening up to hit his captor full-force on the face with the back of his head. The man's cry of pain and anger reverberated loudly as he simultaneously lost his grip on Johnny and the gun. Without much grace but with amazing accuracy for a sightless person, Johnny threw himself down the six steps off the front porch. He landed in a clumsy roll at the bottom of the steps and scrambled away to lie low on his side against the cabin foundation, essentially hidden from view of its windows.

As soon as he was safely out of the firing range, officers began shooting to dissuade those in the cabin from attempting to retrieve their hostage or the injured kidnapper. Windows shattered and gunfire from the cabin erupted in response. Anna and the other agents cautiously advanced toward the cabin, using the parked vehicles for cover. Tear gas canisters shot into the broken windows of the cabin erupted into smoky chocking fumes.

"Stay down Mr. Smith," An agent shouted. "Our guys have almost reached you."

Johnny tensed up at the sound Anna and the others made approaching him. While the FBI agents ran up the steps of the cabin, Anna crouched down next to him.

She was not surprised when he said, "Sheriff Turner?"

"Yes, Johnny it's Anna. Let me get the blindfold off you." She placed the gun on the ground next to her to use both hands to slip off the tightly knotted cloth. "That was a crazy stunt you pulled. You could have had your head blown off."

"I really had no choice with that ultimatum." Johnny blinked several times to adjust to the afternoon light. "They were not going to negotiate."

"Your hard head really came in handy. You broke his nose and who knows what else." As she untied the blindfold, Anna's hand got sticky with blood from the back of Johnny's head. "There is a big gash in the back of your skull. You might have a concussion."

Anna was struck by Johnny's sickly appearance. A few days' worth of scruffy beard did nothing to mask his paleness. Bloodshot eyes were underlined by baggy shadows. A large livid bruise marked his cheek and scrapes rimmed the right eyebrow. His short hair now leaned more toward the matted-down dirty brown than the usual sandy color. Her eyes scanned the rest of his form as if trying to x-ray through his clothing to determine what might have happened to him since Friday.

Squinting, he directed a weak grin at her, looking a little like the solid Johnny Smith she was used to. "It's good to see you too." His voice slurred a little and he shivered. The snow was falling more heavily now in smaller drier flakes. The temperature was clearly dropping. "I look like shit and, trust me, I feel like it too. But I would rather be out here freezing my ass off than back there."

Anna's incipient grin froze in her face when she noticed the bright red color of the snow under Johnny's semi-prone body. Her eyes traveled up to the blood stained handcuffed hands.

"I think that I have a key to unlock those cuffs," she said as she dug in the pocket of her jacket for the universal handcuff key set. "The blood is not from a fresh gunshot wound, is it Johnny?"

"No, it's from Friday. But I felt something snap in my dive off the steps and it started bleeding more heavily. Moving anything on the left side hurts like hell."

While the lose black sweatshirt sleeve hid the damage from view, it was clear to Anna that it was getting soaked with blood and melted snow.

"Ready?"

Nodding, Johnny braced the arm before Anna inserted the key in the cuffs. She tried to turn the key and remove the cuffs as gently as possible, but could not avoid a slight jar. Johnny groaned in pain and then held his breath as he gingerly re-positioned the liberated limb.

"Hang on Johnny. We'll get you out of here for some proper medical attention as soon as they finish securing the cabin." Anna looked around. From this angle she couldn't see what was happening in the cabin but she could hear that the gunfire had clearly died down. The agents had entered the cabin and were probably making arrests. At the next officer who reached their position she yelled, "Get the doctor and a stretcher here fast."

"How's J.J.?" Johnny asked between rapid, shallow breaths.

"He was shaken up but he did a great job remembering what you told him. He's going to be really glad to see you." She took off her coat and laid it on the ground next to Smith. "Let me help you lie down to slow down the bleeding."

Anna bundled up her scarf and placed it behind his head as a cushion. He held his left arm on top of his torso. Anna could see the ring of lacerations around his wrists.

"Johnny, what was going on here? What the hell did they want from you?" she said.

"They wanted me to help them find a lethal microbe that a scientist had hidden. I played along for a while to buy some time but when I realized what it was, I stopped cooperating." He stopped intermittently to catch his breath. "After a while I became terrified that their persuasive methods would get to me. The body of this doctor is buried in the compost pile in the backyard. I had visions of his bloody suicide… He killed himself because he was afraid that he would tell them where he had hidden a vial of deadly bacteria. White supremacists are trying to get a hold of it to use it as a biological weapon to terrorize Chicago in the Spring… I tried to avoid it, but a vision showed me the location of this hidden cache. Oh Anna, if they had gotten a hold of J.J. I don't think that I could have stopped myself from telling them everything. I got to thank Bob Raymond for trying to be a vigilante hero back at the store. The only reason why I knew that I had to get J.J. away was because I had a vision when I got shot. Oh God, I am a nut-case magnet. How's Sarah?"

"She's holding strong. I have officers at the house in case…"

Johnny's hacking coughs stopped the rest of her answer. He cringed, "I must have cracked some ribs." To Anna he seemed even paler than before.

A paramedic placed her gear next to Johnny's prone figure. Anna moved to give her and Dr. Wofford room, but stayed close.

The paramedic opened up a case and hooked up an oxygen mask. She placed a blood pressure cuff over Johnny's uninjured arm and began monitoring it. Dr. Wofford checked Johnny's pupils with a light. He asked Johnny a question about his injuries but he didn't answer. He seemed to be struggling to catch his breath. Anna explained about the gunshot wounds sustained three-days earlier and the knock at the back of his head.

"Just a minute ago, he said that he must have cracked a rib," Anna offered.

When the paramedic unzipped his sweatshirt and placed a stethoscope on the wet shirt covering his chest, Johnny shuddered into a vision.

As his eyes re-focused a couple of seconds later, Johnny shook his head and whispered, "The transfer will be too late."

"Johnny, what transfer? Too late for what? What did you see?" Anna saw a flash of fear in his face that quickly dissipated to exhaustion. She noticed that the paramedic and the doctor were clearly following the conversation while continuing uninterrupted with their medial ministrations.

"An undesirable outcome," he said. "Sarah will know what I mean."

"Johnny, Sarah is not here. Please let me help you. What did you see?"

He held her gaze and almost pulled off a smile. "I saw… at the local hospital… I'm going to die…some complication. Please tell Sarah I'm so sorry that I ran out of time. I don't..."

Johnny fought through another coughing fit. Agitated, he tried to sit up. The paramedic firmly pushed him down and placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Blood trickled out from the side of his mouth and he lost consciousness.

"He's not breathing, BP's dropping." The paramedic cut open Johnny's shirt. Crimson bruises marked by darker purple areas spread over most of the left side of his rib cage. She removed a large piece of bloodied gauze taped to Johnny's stomach to reveal a mosaic of half a dozen blistering cigarette burns. "What the hell?"

Ignoring the burns, Dr. Wofford gently palpated the ribs. "I would say at least two broken ribs." He listened intently with the stethoscope. "Lung collapsed, get me a large gauge needle and tube."

While Dr. Wofford and the paramedic worked quickly to insert a large needle hooked to a long plastic tube into the side of Johnny's upper chest, Anna stood in a daze. She was trying to process what Johnny had said about dying. If he was going to die at a local hospital, then what was happening now wasn't it. After all of this, there had to be something that she could do. How could she face Sarah, and especially J.J. if Johnny just died after being freed? A loud hiss of air shook her back to reality.

"He's breathing again. BP is going up," said the paramedic with audible relief. She worked on getting an IV saline ready.

"Okay, we are going to take him to the county clinic ASAP so that we can stabilize him out of this freezing weather and snow. Then he's certainly going to need an emergency transfer to DHMC or Boston Medical." Dr. Wofford looked around and signaled for the ambulance to get closer.

"Why can't we just take him directly to DHMC, it's the closest Level I Trauma Center," Anna said.

"He may not make it there. He's bleeding internally and God only knows what other damage he's got. He's going into shock as we speak."

"But you heard him. He said that the transfer will be too late and he will die." Anna insisted. "The way things work with Smith is that the vision will come true unless something is done to change the events."

She didn't dwell on the times that Johnny had told her that he was the one who had to do something to change what was going to happen. The way she rationalized it, he had done something by telling her what he saw. He could have passed out without saying a word to her about it.

The argument didn't last long. Regardless of their normal skepticism about psychic predictions, everybody there knew that Johnny's visions were the only reason they had found and captured the kidnappers at Dr. Wofford's office and at the cabin. Anna made the call to Sarah to get her consent for the risky emergency transport. She only had to briefly sketch out the situation and mention "undesirable outcome" before Sarah agreed. Sarah more than anyone else understood that they had to take the risk.

"Please stay with him until I get there," she said before hanging up. Anna could hear the tension in Sarah's voice. "Talk to him, even if he doesn't seem to be able to hear you."


End file.
